54
With mixed emotions, but believing that she was genuinely concerned, Monica took Susan Gannon to Sally’s crib. Sally’s eyes were open, and she was holding a nearly full bottle of water. The oxygen mask had been replaced by tubes in her nostrils. At the sight of Monica she struggled to her feet and raised her arms. “Monny, Monny.” But when Monica picked her up, she began to punch at her with her small fists.
“Oh, come on, Sally,” Monica said, soothingly. “I know you’re mad at me, but I couldn’t help hurting you with those needles. I had to make you get better.”
The intensive care nurse held the chart for her. “As I told you when you phoned, Doctor, Sally had a pretty good night. She hates the IV of course, and fought it until she fell asleep. She did drink her bottle this morning and ate a little fruit.”
Susan had been standing a few feet away. “Does she still have pneumonia?” she asked quietly.
“There’s still some fluid in her lungs,” Monica said. “But thank God, she’s off the critical list. When the babysitter brought her in on Thursday morning, I was afraid we were going to lose this little girl. We couldn’t let that happen, could we, Sally?”
Sally’s fists stopped flailing and she laid her head on Monica’s shoulder.
“She’s the image of her father,” Susan said softly. “How long will she be in the hospital?”
“For another week at least,” Monica said.
“Then what?” Susan asked.
“Unless some relative comes to claim her, she’ll be put into a foster home, at least temporarily.”
“I see. Thank you, Doctor.” Abruptly Susan Gannon turned and walked quickly down the corridor. It was clear to Monica that she was becoming very emotional and was eager to get away.
After Monica examined Sally and put her back in the crib, wailing in protest, she reconnected the IV, and then checked her two other young patients. One of them was a six-year-old boy who had a bad strep throat. He was surrounded by his parents, big brothers, and grandmother. Books and games were piled on the windowsill. “I think I should keep you here for a couple of more days, Bobby, so you can read all those books,” she told him, as she signed his discharge papers.
At his alarmed look, she said, “Just kidding. You’re out of here.”
Four-year-old Rachel, who had been admitted with bronchitis, was her other patient. She, too, was recovered enough to go home. “And you two had both better get some rest,” Monica told the weary-looking parents. She knew that neither one of them had left Rachel’s side since she’d been brought to the hospital four days ago. Bobby and Rachel were never really in danger, she thought. Hospitalizing them was only a precaution. But Sally almost didn’t make it. The other kids have families who haven’t left them alone for one single minute. Sally’s only visitors have been her babysitter, who knew her for only a week, and the ex-wife of her father, who is now suspected of murdering Sally’s mother.
In the hospital lobby, Monica bought the
He’s guilty as sin, Monica thought. No one in that family will ever want Renee Carter’s baby. According to these stories, Peter Gannon has never even laid eyes on her. Oh, God, with all the people who yearn for a child, why did Sally have to be born to these people?
But Sally would not be Sally if she were not the offspring of Peter Gannon and Renee Carter. No matter what kind of people they are, or were, she is a beautiful, sweet little girl.
“We’re here, Miss,” the cabby said.
Monica looked up, startled. “Oh, of course.” She paid the fare, tipped generously, and went up the steps, key in hand. She opened the outer door, used the key for the inner door to the vestibule, and walked down the hallway to her apartment. It was only when she was inside, and had dropped her shoulder bag and the newspapers on the chair, that the events of the past few days flooded through her mind.
She stared at the worn shoulder bag she had been using in place of the new one that had been crushed by the bus. She felt the panic of that awful moment again when the bus was rushing at her. Then she thought of her intense disappointment that Olivia Morrow had died only hours before they were to meet, of her futile attempt to find a possible confidante of Morrow’s at the funeral Mass, and finally of the emotional pain of learning that Ryan was involved with another woman. A feeling of intense sadness enveloped her.
Close to tears, she went into the kitchen, put on the kettle, and looked in the refrigerator for salad makings. I’m more banged up than I realized, she thought. My back and shoulders are sore and aching.
There’s something else, she told herself. What is it? It has to do with Sally. Something I said this morning. What was it?
Let it go, she thought. If it’s important, it will come back.
There’s something I
The salad and two cups of tea made Monica feel a bit better. She knew that her land phone was backed up with calls from her friends who had heard about the bus incident. With a pad in hand, she listened to the messages. They all ran in a similar vein, how concerned and shocked they were at her narrow escape from the bus, and was there any truth to that old lady’s story that she had been pushed? Three of her callers wanted her to stay at their apartments, in case she was being stalked.
Monica began to return the calls. She reached six of her friends and left messages for the others, and she declined several invitations to join them for dinner, even though she had no plans for the evening. When she was finished, she went into the bathroom, undressed, and got into the Jacuzzi. For forty-five minutes she relaxed in the soothing warm water and began to feel the strain ease from her bruised body.
She had planned to put on comfortable slacks and a sweater and take a long walk, but the almost sleepless night was taking its toll on her. Instead, she lay down on the bed, pulled the comforter over her, and closed her eyes.
When she opened them again the slanting shadows told her it was late afternoon. For a few minutes she stayed wrapped in the comforter, feeling more in focus. I’m glad I don’t have plans, she thought. I haven’t seen a good movie in ages-I’ll find one, go to an early show by myself, and grab something to eat on the way back. I really don’t feel like taking a walk anymore. But I do want to get some fresh air…
She pushed her feet into chenille slippers, walked from the bedroom to the kitchen, opened the back door to the small patio, and stepped outside. It was chilly, and the robe that had felt so comfortable was no match for the outside temperature.
A couple of deep breaths, she thought, and that’s it. Then as she glanced around, her eyes focused on the decorative water can that stood to the left of the door.
It had been moved.
She was sure of it.
She always left it placed on the one patio stone that was badly cracked. It was heavy enough so that even a strong wind wouldn’t move it. Now it was halfway onto the next stone.
But it hadn’t been like that yesterday.
Before I left for the funeral Mass, I came out on the patio, she thought. I’d slept so badly I felt groggy and wanted fresh air. I’m sure I remember looking at the can and thinking that I should get around to replacing the broken stone. Or, maybe Lucy moved it, if she swept the patio when she was here yesterday?
Suddenly shivering, Monica went back into the kitchen, pulled the door closed behind her, and slid the bolt into the lock position.
